Right Ho, Jeeves, P. G. Wodehouse
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P. G. Wodehouse

Right Ho, Jeeves

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Right Ho, Jeeves is the second novel to feature P. G. Wodehouse’s popular Bertie Wooster and Jeeves characters. Bertie, a member of the English upper class and one of the «idle rich» tries his best to arrange relationships between two pairs of his friends. Though he means well, Bertie’s bumbling attempts wind up doing more harm than good (as usual), leaving it to his valet, Jeeves, to see if he can sort things out.
A smooth, easy, and often hilarious read, Right Ho, Jeeves is an excellent example of why Bertie Wooster and Jeeves have become such iconic literary figures.
263 printed pages

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Right Ho, Jeeves, P. G. Wodehouse

Impressions

vminocha k
vminocha kshared an impression3 years ago
👍Worth reading

Just the best

trihawkjon
trihawkjonshared an impression4 years ago

One of PG's finest novels; complex and hilarious.

loriewest
loriewestshared an impression3 years ago
🎯Worthwhile

Quotes

yiriden838
yiriden838has quotedlast month
“It’s a gram­mar school at Mar­ket Snods­bury.”

I told her a little fri­gidly that I had di­vined as much.

“Well, how was I to know that a man with a mind like yours would grasp it so quickly?” she pro­tested. “All right, then. Mar­ket Snods­bur
Цени мать
Цени матьhas quoted2 months ago
Get off the mark, on the other hand, like a scal­ded cat, and your pub­lic is at a loss. It simply raises its eye­brows, and can’t make out what you’re talk­ing about.

And in open­ing my re­port of the com­plex case of Gussie Fink-Nottle, Madeline Bas­sett, my Cousin An­gela, my Aunt Dah­lia, my Uncle Tho­mas, young Tuppy Glos­sop and the cook, Anatole, with the above spot of dia­logue, I see that I have made the second of these two float­ers.

I shall have to hark back a bit. And tak­ing it for all in all and weigh­ing this against that, I sup­pose the af­fair may be said to have had its in­cep­tion, if in­cep­tion is the word I want, with that visit of mine to Cannes. If I hadn’t gone to Cannes, I shouldn’t have met the Bas­sett or bought that white mess jacket, and An­gela wouldn’t have met her shark, and Aunt Dah­lia wouldn’t have played bac­carat.

Yes, most de­cidedly, Cannes was the point d’ap­pui.

Right ho, then. Let me mar­shal my facts.

I went to Cannes—leav­ing Jeeves be­hind, he hav­ing in­tim­ated that he did not wish to miss Ascot—round about the be­gin­ning of June. With me trav­elled my Aunt Dah­lia and her daugh­ter An­gela. Tuppy Glos­sop, An­gela’s be­trothed, was to have been of the party, but at the last mo­ment couldn’t get away. Uncle Tom, Aunt Dah­lia’s hus­band, re­mained at home, be­cause he can’t stick the
Tara Nivian-Beal
Tara Nivian-Bealhas quotedlast year
I mean to say, when you leave a girl and a man, each of whom has ad­mit­ted in set terms that she and he loves him and her, in close jux­ta­pos­i­tion in the twi­light, there doesn’t seem much more to do but start pri­cing fish slices.
So­mething at­temp­ted, some­thing done, seemed to me to have earned two-penn’orth of was­sail in the smoking-room.
I pro­ceeded thither.

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